


Wane of Glory

by Ramzes



Series: Daenaera Velaryon: Moments [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 16:34:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3495305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aegon the Dragonbane, he would be called. But what does the death of the last Targaryen dragon truly mean for the king named so?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wane of Glory

"I don't want her to live."

Many suspected that but she was the only one he could actually say that to. Daenaera looked up from her embroidery and smiled a little. "I know."

She always knew. That was what he loved best about her – except for the children she had given him. Five gifts beyond price. He took a seat next to her, peering at her needlework. "Is that for Elaena?" he asked curiously, for the tunic looked the right size.

Daenaera shook her head. "It's for Amara," she said softly. "A girl from the Queen's Children Home. Oh Aegon, she's so small and so ill. When I go there and see her… and then I return home and see Elaena… I think how blessed we are and still my heart breaks. So much suffering that we cannot alleviate."

He sighed and chose to focus on the Elaena part to cheer her up. "We are," he said. "What a blessing you are to me. I knew it from the start: I'll take Daenaera, for her purple eyes and because Rhaena and Baela advance her and they know what they're talking about."

She smiled and blushed crimson – a sight that always delighted him. He looked at the tiny outfit she had already finished. "For Naerys' babe?" he asked and concern clouded his features. His niece was so frail. He only prayed for a safe delivery and felt that Daenaera's preparations somehow provoked the gods into dashing her expectations. The Stranger knew no mercy.

Daenaera looked at the fabric and confirmed. "It's been a good year and it will keep being so," she said confidently. "Now that we've heard the Princess of Dorne is with child as well, perhaps we should send a gift?"

He blinked and once again felt just how blessed he was. Aegon the Unlucky. Luckier than many knew. He genuinely wished to take care of his people and live in peace with his neighbours in the South and he did the best he could but he lacked the subtle approach that came easier to women than men. His sisters had it but they mostly lived away from court. Still, they had taught Daenaera well, nurturing her own considerable abilities in this field. Yes, it would be nice to send a personal present, to show Dorne that the King and Queen took the peaceful relationship very seriously indeed. It would never have occurred to him. And he genuinely saw her endearing herself to their subjects through her genuine interest in charities and personal interactions was enough for both of them. He didn't need to cultivate closeness and charm. She did it magnificently in his place.

But her words had touched a raw spot in his soul. "Is it going to be a good year indeed, Daenaera?" he asked softly, despair encroaching. "If the last dragon dies…"

"You don't care whether she dies," Daenaera reminded him. In truth, she almost hoped the beast would. It might – just might – bring Aegon some feeling of closure.

"But the realm will," he replied bleakly.

The silence dragged on. Behind the door, Daena's shouts could be heard as she chased her attendants in a game that was no doubt more fit for a prince than princess. Tender dusk made its way into the Queen's solar, drowning everything in a cloak of approaching darkness. The flowers in the plant pots that Daenaera had had brought over to have a garden in the bareness of Maegor's Holdfast and its bleak moat started releasing their aroma.

"Call for my women to light the candles," Daenaera said. Instead, Aegon did it himself. She recognized the signs: he did not want to have his privacy with her interrupted, for confusion had claimed his soul once again. She left her embroidery aside and moved to the settee where he immediately joined her, taking her hands in his. _He must be very troubled indeed_ , she thought, concern rising. Usually, he waited for her to make the first step, clinging to his solitude till the very moment she broke his fear of it being disturbed.

"Are you going to tell me?" she murmured.

He was so quiet that she thought he hadn't heard her. Only the painful grasp of his fingers over hers showed her that he was there, her rings cutting into the soft skin. But she'd rather have this pain than the agony of watching him slip to where even she could not follow.

"I want her to die," he breathed. "But what's going to happen if she does, Daenaera? You, of all people, know how I hate dragons. But they were the glory of our House, they were the foundation stone of our power. Without them, what will be left to us? Are there going to be seven separate kingdoms again? Is there going to be a _war_?"

The last word came out as a terrified whisper. Now she realized the true extent of his horror, the new battle in his heart. He hated two things with passion: dragons and instability in the realm. And he didn't know what he wished for: the death of the last she-dragon, or a miraculous recovery and a brood of new dragons hatched. As the choice was truly out of his hands and was becoming increasingly obvious with the poor creature's fading and no eggs hatching, it was inevitable that Aegon's thoughts would turn to the consequences – and still, he couldn't truly wish for the dragon to live despite knowing that he had to.

"No," Daenaera replied steadily. "The kingdom is at peace. You've given it many years of prosperity and stability. Why would there be a war?"

He huffed. "They don't love me – and you know that well! Without dragons…"

_If you were a different kind of man, my lord, they might have loved you. If you were a different kind of man, my love might have lasted._ She didn't say it, of course. Why hurt him? Why demand something that he could not give? After so many years, she wasn't sure what she would have done with it even if he could have given it.

"With or without dragons, you're the King – and Daeron will be one after you," she said. He drank her words as if they were a magic potion tending to his low spirits – she recognized it by the manner in which his hands suddenly relaxed, releasing hers, and he gasped, realizing what he had done.

"Daenaera – your fingers – oh gods, I'm sorry – I'll call the Grand Maester-"

"There is no need," she interrupted, flexing her fingers to show that she was truly fine. "Aegon, would you like to be present when I receive the head of the infirmary I founded for…"

"No," he replied without listening to the end. "I'll give you all the resources you need, of course."

"Of course," the Queen agreed. Even now, he would not make the effort. No wonder he was not well-liked by his people. "Are you going to your chambers to change for supper now?" she asked.

He twitched anxiously. "Actually, I was hoping we could stay here for tonight," he said. "Take our meals here and be alone."

"Of course," Daenaera said. Right now, she was badly prepared to be nurturing and maternal – Daeron had sapped a good deal of her maternal tolerance for the day – but she knew it would pass. Really, what was an evening of soothing his demons to sleep and reassuring him more? She had already given him so many. "We'll stay here if that's your wish."

The bleakest part in dealing with him when he was in one of those moods was that he never asked about her wishes. _Perhaps I should have stated them more clearly in the past. Perhaps that would have changed something._

He looked at her with gratitude. No, he was not capable of loving her the way she had craved long ago. _Perhaps not._

"Come here," she said softly and he kissed her bruised fingers gently, regretfully. Despite everything, Daenaera felt the rush of the familiar warmth and tenderness that so often saved her marriage from the poison of resentment.

* * *

"Your Grace!"

Aegon shot to his feet, enraged. Daenaera was quick to place a restraining hand on his arm but that was one of the cases where he wasn't the depressed, mild-mannered King but the descendant of those who had laid the foundations of their realm on the death of others.

"What?" he snapped. Their attendants knew that intruding upon the King and Queen without a very good reason was asking for trouble – and not only when Aegon and Daenaera had retired to the bedchamber. Now, they had been engrossed in reading – he documents of state and she a small book of poetry – when they were interrupted by a servant not only knocking but actually throwing the door wide open before either of them could speak.

"Your Grace!" the man panted, not affected by the menace in Aegon's voice if he had caught it at all. "The dragon – she rose and flew!"

Aegon stared at him, astounded, then spun on his left to look at Daenaera, the same thought in both their minds: the dragon could not have flown. She _could_ not fly. Her wings were withered. Everyone knew it. Everyone in the Red Keep knew it _for a fact_.

Without tarrying, Aegon roared for a cloak and wrapped her in it before they made their way in haste down the bridge. And the end of it was where they were stopped dead in their tracks, close enough to the white knight to see that he was staring upward, his mouth slack.

The touching small, stunted thing roamed above them, leaving a trail of fire. Roaring, waking the sleeping King's Landing, emanating startled cries from the castle and great roaring of enthusiasm from the city below. Had they ever thought her pitiful? Twisted? She was green and majestic, pulsating with the power that had won Aegon's ancestors their throne. It was just as glorious as another dragon, as gold as the sun from which he had derived his name… Aegon broke in cold swear.

"Aegon!"

Daenaera's voice broke through the mist of horror in his head, a dragon's roar and his mother's dying curse… He wanted to grasp her hand and he couldn't. She understood, so she grabbed his instead.

"We cannot stay here," she said, her voice shaking with fear. "We must get to firm land. Come on, Aegon, walk with me. One step at a time…"

Numbly, he followed her, his reason shrinking to the chilling realization that should he make a step in the wrong direction, they would both be impaled on the pikes below. She could die. The fear for her made his core focus only on moving one foot before the other, and then again. One foot before the other, and then again. One foot…

"We're there," she sighed hugely when they had safely crossed. "Let's go to the others…"

For she had seen them: Viserys, his eyes wide and joy evident, Rhaena holding her breath, Aegon, for once speechless… Even Naerys, with her bulging belly, had come out, drawn to the sight.

It'll be all right, Daenaera thought triumphantly. The dragon would live. The eggs would hatch. All those talks of Aegon poisoning the dragons would stop.

And then the roar became a shriek. Naerys gave a small cry that came out only as a gasp, drowned by the sound of the she-dragon's dying screams. The green body started thrashing and another shriek, more anguished, stunned the world into silence. The misshapen body started falling, falling…

"No!" There was horror in Viserys' voice, so deep that Daenaera looked at him, surprised, and saw him clinging to Rhaena's hand. Rhaena rose on tiptoes and placed a gentle hand over his eyes because he seemed incapable of thinking of that himself. Now, Daenaera remembered that her goodbrother disliked even watching a bird fall from the sky.

The sound that erupted from Aegon's throat made her move her eyes to him. It was the closest thing to laugh that she had ever heard him make, yet there was a sob there as well. His eyes shone with the glow of triumph, the delight in seeing one's foe defeated, dead.

The dragon crashed heavily into a yard two walls away and Daenaera thought that she had heard marble breaking. She had never imagined that the sickly beast would be so heavy.

The silence and the cries that followed announced the death of an era. Targaryens were no longer dragon kings.

Shaking, Naerys turned silently back and headed for her chambers. Aegon, still stunned, followed, arranging her cloak around her in a rare gesture of care.

"Come on," Rhaena said softly. "We're going inside. Come with me."

Viserys followed, shocked and obedient as a child. She led him to his chambers holding his hand as if he were indeed one.

"Let's go," Aegon said, still exhilarated, still invigorated as she had never seen him. "Tonight, we'll celebrate."

Numbly, Daenaera obeyed. And in the night full of passion that followed, she felt as ill-used as she had in that very first night of theirs, all those years ago.

 


End file.
